


Fireworks

by broodywolf



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 14:10:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8164675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broodywolf/pseuds/broodywolf
Summary: She’s heard shems say that the first time you kiss someone should be like fireworks.Shems, as usual, are a bit stupid.





	

She’s heard shems say that the first time you kiss someone should be like fireworks.

Shems, as usual, are a bit stupid.

She’s seen fireworks a few times, when their clan happened to pass near a city. Big pops and bangs of color and light, celebrations only the nobles could afford.

They’re beautiful, and exciting, so she can see perhaps why the shems would compare a kiss to fireworks —but then a second later they’re gone, leaving only a hazy smoke in their wake. That is nothing like a kiss. Not the good kind, anyway.

A proper first kiss should be like an ember. Tentative at first, but if you fan it just a little it catches. The blaze consumes, it wants more, you can never get _enough._

Creators, but it had been like that with Zevran. She’d been almost taken aback, at first, by how gentle he was —but within seconds he was driving her mad, soft touches that ignited something deep inside her. _A spark._ Back then it seemed like everything was going to the Void anyway, so what did it matter if she let the fire eat her up.

Perhaps those first kisses were a bit like fireworks. After all, a blazing bonfire can inspire the same sort of awe fireworks do. The flames licking towards the sky, the violent _pops_ as moisture escapes the wood, the heady and alluring sense of _danger._ The similarity ends there, though —for a fire, when fed, _endures._ It might burn low —a gentle, simmering heat like warm sun on your skin —but feed the flames and the fire flares back to life, an overpowering blaze that roars inside of you, that _want_ that seems to pulse in time with your heartbeat.

Lyna can never decide which she likes more. The soft warmth she feels when she wakes up ensconced in Zevran’s arms, all crooked smiles and sleepy kisses? It makes everything she’s been through, every hardship, every friend lost and every darkspawn slain _worth it_ , just so she can be here now.

But then there’s the intoxicating blaze of desire that overtakes her when Zevran makes love to her —for he knows her every weakness, knows how to drive her to the brink, until she’s certain she’ll combust because how can she possibly hold herself together when he’s reduced her to a quivering mess of _want._ It goes both ways, of course —other times she’ll turn the flame back on him, his hands tied to the headboard as she gives and takes as she pleases. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get past how beautiful he is, especially like this —the warm flush of desire looks so gorgeous against his sun-kissed brown skin, his head canted back as the liquid, molten syllables of his native tongue spill from his mouth.

At the end of the day, though? Their love is a fire that will not go out. She doesn’t need exciting pops of color and light, showy displays of extravagance that are gone as quickly as they came. What she has is something infinitely more valuable. A steady fire in the hearth, warm arms around her, a smile as bright as the noonday sun. Her Zevran. 


End file.
